


Man overboard

by Elisexyz



Series: Mental Health Whump Timeless Challenge [9]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas Isn't Canon, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-20 04:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18985351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: Dead children tend to weight on pretty much everybody. They just seem to weight on Flynn the most.





	Man overboard

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the prompt "Walk" in the [Mental Health Whump Challenge by newisalwaysbetter](https://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/184648324764/mental-health-whump). Some more Flogan brotp to hurt my soul.

Wyatt is on Flynn duty.

Well, no one _actually_ asked him, but with everyone holed up in their brand-new safehouse it’d be a little difficult not to notice the others taking turns trying to get Flynn to at the very least go back to his usual – low – levels of sociality, and Wyatt supposes that he should do his fair share.

Mostly working under the assumption that Flynn will tell him to go to hell, and Wyatt will be glad to do so with an eased conscience.

When he knocks on Flynn’s door, Lucy is passing by, and she offers him a grateful smile that Wyatt takes in with a nod, before getting in without waiting for an invite, since he’s realistically not going to receive any.

Flynn is sitting on his bed with a book on his lap, although if Wyatt had to take a guess he’d say that he hasn’t really been reading much.

“What do you want?” is Flynn’s all but warm greeting, which Wyatt completely fails to take personally, since the guy looks like he just got run over. Twice.

He is pretty sure that he has heard him walk around the last three nights – that, or they have a very serious rat problem –, but even if he _hadn’t_ known that, he could have guessed just by looking at him.

Not that he really blames him: dead children tend to weight on pretty much everybody. They just seem to weight on Flynn the most.

Wyatt too has been having an hard time wiping off his brain the image of the seven years old little girl accidental victim of their firefight of the week – it was nobody’s fault, not really, she was scared and she walked _right_ in, they aren’t even sure who fired the shot, honestly, Wyatt only knows it wasn’t him because he was facing the other direction –: his own child only exists as a _concept_ for now and yet he can’t seem to stop himself from making that connection – _What if she was yours? What would you do?_ –, whereas Flynn had an actual breathing daughter somewhere, in another life, before she was shot too.

Come to think of it, he’s handling it all too well.

“You’ve been here for days,” Wyatt points out, crossing his arms and pursing his lips. “Shouldn’t you be outside for a change?”

Flynn raises his eyebrows. “I thought you’d appreciate being rid of me.”

The comment lacks the usual bite, but Wyatt supposes that he should take his attempt at snark as a promising sign.

“Oh, yeah, I do,” he snorts. “But I, uh, I think you should take a walk.”

“Do you,” Flynn deadpans, flipping the page of the book with a pointed look at him.

Wyatt elects to ignore the silent message. He has been told that he doesn’t have great self-preservation instincts. “Yeah. A walk with me,” he clarifies, just to dig his hole deeper.

“And why would I do that?” Flynn asks, tiredly. If he doesn’t feel like arguing, Wyatt might just get a win out of this.

He shrugs. “I wanted to check out the perimeter,” he recites, as casually as he can. Agent Christopher has already done that, _Wyatt_ has already done that, but Flynn wouldn’t know, since he has decided to lick his wounds in private for the next decade or so. “We need to verify it’s safe, you know. You should come with me.”

“You are perfectly capable of doing that on your own.”

That sounded close to a compliment. Wyatt is almost tempted to derail the conversation by pointing it out.

 _Priorities, Logan_.

“Yeah, but then if it’s _not_ safe and someone shoots me in the head it doesn’t help anybody. If you are with me, you can yell for the others or something.”

Flynn raises his eyebrows, vaguely amused. “Before they shoot me too.”

A pause. “Possibly, yeah,” Wyatt shrugs. “So? What do you say?”

Flynn sighs, staring at him for a few moments before shaking his head. “Fine,” he finally concedes, flipping him off with a gesture. “A walk sounds good.”

Wyatt isn’t sure if he should be celebrating that he _actually_ got him to cooperate, even when everyone else failed – although, let’s be honest, he probably just caught him in a good mood –, or if he should be desperate at the thought of carrying out the rest of this conversation. He isn’t all that good with words, least of all with _Flynn_.

“You should get some real clothes on, though, it’s cold,” he points out, because the guy looks like he has every intention of walking out in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Flynn gives him an exasperated look that seems to complain ‘Really? Anything else you want from me? The moon, maybe?’, but he does reach for his drawer without actually saying anything.

Wyatt draws in a sharp breath, the urge to say something pushing in the back of his mind.

Lucy told him that that little girl was probably supposed to die anyway in the Peshtigo fire, a few days after their trip, and although that eases their concerns about fucking up timelines he doubts that it’s going to do much to chase away Flynn’s ghosts.

Saying that he’s sorry probably wouldn’t help either.

It’s only when they are already outside, and it occurs to Wyatt that if _Flynn_ were trying to coddle him he’d probably be pissed off on principle, that he starts talking again.

“Does this mean that you’re getting out for dinner today?” he asks, trying not to sound _too_ eager. “Because we all kinda miss having someone who can cook us a proper meal, you know. Lucy tried yesterday— yeah, no, no details, I wouldn’t want to give you nightmares.”

Flynn snorts, amused, the ghost of a smile stuck on his face. “Was that a compliment to my cooking?”

“I value my survival over my pride.”

Flynn raises his eyebrows.

Which, yeah, fair. “Sometimes,” Wyatt amends, with a shrug.

That gets another snort and a shake of his head for an answer, as Flynn walks past him to continue their completely useless errand. Wyatt follows him, fighting off a relieved smile.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including: 
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> If you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper” and I will appreciate it but not respond!


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